


temptations of trouble on my tongue

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Buzzfeed The Try Guys (Web Series)
Genre: 4+1, Angst, Denial, Excessive Drinking, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Minor Drug Use, Podfic Welcome, Weed, background standrew - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Four times Eugene kissed Zach while drunk, high, or otherwise fucked up—and one time he didn’t.





	temptations of trouble on my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> will i ever write some simple, fluffy zagene??? perhaps, but today is not that day. have some angsty, alcohol-ridden zagene, instead! written to the tune of ['weak' by AJR](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txCCYBMKdB0), which is a solid song.
> 
> big thanks to hannah for beta'ing, as always! 
> 
> enjoy!

_one sip, bad for me / one hit, bad for me / one kiss, bad for me_

_(WEAK - AJR)_

  


 

**_one_ **

Eugene said he wouldn’t drink at this particular party.

And he hasn’t! Not a single drop, even though he wants to. Not one shot, even though the bartender is cute and would probably give him a discount or even a free pass. He hasn’t accepted any of the offers to buy him a drink, and there have been _plenty_. Some he probably would’ve said no to regardless—some of the bar’s patrons are less than pleasant. Others, though, others he would’ve gladly accepted.

But no, Eugene hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol.

He has, however, smoked a not insignificant amount of weed. It’s not his preferred way of getting intoxicated, but it leaves him feeling loose and happy so he’ll take it. His mouth is going to taste like death tomorrow and his clothes will reek, but for now it’s almost unnoticeable. The bar is dim and full of people who all stink like cigarettes and sweat and booze—Eugene is hardly a blip on that radar.

A hand touches his elbow, and Eugene turns to face the its owner with a lazy grin.

“Eugene, dude.” It’s Zach, staring at him with his eyebrows drawn together in concern. “You okay?”

Eugene nods. “I’m great.”

Zach doesn’t look convinced. His hand on Eugene’s elbow tightens. “Maybe you should go home. You shouldn’t wander off when you’re… like this.”

A brief hiss of irritation flares up in Eugene’s head but it’s gone as quickly as it came. He’s too warm and content to be _that_ annoyed. He shrugs instead, and says, “I haven’t wandered off all night.” Okay, maybe he sounds a little petulant, but it’s only fair. He only left long enough to smoke a joint out in the alley behind the bar and—oh. “Except for the whole weed, thing.”

Zach sighs, exasperated. “Let’s get you home, huh?”

Eugene shrugs again. “I’m good,” he says. He pushes Zach’s hand from his elbow with clumsy fingers; Zach takes a step back as his hand falls from Eugene’s arm, and Eugene reaches for him before he can go too far. He wraps the same clumsy, slow fingers around Zach’s bony wrist and yanks him in.

“Eugene,” Zach hisses. It sounds like admonishment, maybe, Eugene’s not sure. All he knows is the urge has struck him and he’s seldom one to deny his urges. Eugene licks his lips and almost preens as Zach’s eyes zero in on the movement. “Eugene,” Zach says again.

Eugene doesn’t answer. He leans in and brushes a feather-light kiss over Zach’s lips. They’re warm and chapped under his own. Eugene slides his tongue along Zach’s bottom lip and drinks in his answering gasp before pulling away.

He opens his eyes to see Zach staring up at him, doe-like eyes impossibly wider. “Maybe you should take me home,” Eugene says softly as his head starts to swim. His stomach roils slightly and his grip on Zach’s wrist tightens.

Zach only nods. “Okay,” he says very quietly. Eugene isn’t even sure how Zach heard him over the din of the bar, but he’s thankful nonetheless. “Let’s go.”

 

 

**_two_ **

Eugene made zero promises about drinking tonight, so naturally, he’s drunk.

It feels good. The night of being high had quickly lost its glamor as Eugene’s stomach fought against it, his brain swimming through foggy and bogged down thoughts. Waking up had almost been worse: all his memories were hazy like looking through a dirty windshield, and his mouth had tasted disgusting, just like he predicted.

Being drunk is better: Eugene can gauge it better, pace himself, enjoy himself without feeling like his head is wrapped in gauze. His inhibitions are loose and free and he’s been mingling throughout the party like a salmon swimming in a stream. He hasn’t stopped grinning in what feels like hours.

Eugene knocks back the rest of his drink and leaves the solo cup sitting somewhere; he’ll help clean up in the morning anyway. Maybe. He starts another trek through the crowd until he sees Keith’s head towering over the rest. He makes his way over, stopping only long enough to grin and wave at people and pat them on the shoulders.

He crashes into Keith when he reaches the table and his eyes zero in on the camera. “Are we doing a video?”

“A vlog,” Keith explains with a goofy grin. “No better time, right?”

“Right,” Eugene agrees. He makes a show of cracking his knuckles. “What’s the gist?”

“Shots!” Keith cheers, holding up a stout shot glass full of clear liquid. One whiff tells Eugene it’s tequila, and he takes it gamely. “Zach has your lime.”

Eugene peers around Keith to see Zach waiting with a miniature salt shaker in one hand and a slice of lime in the other. Eugene shrugs and sidles around Keith until he’s bumping elbows with Zach. He licks a stripe across the top of his hand and holds it out for Zach who salts the skin swiftly.

“Put the lime in your mouth,” Eugene says with only a hint of a slur to his words. Zach’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t say no. Eugene waits until Zach pops the lime between his teeth, fleshy side facing out for Eugene to bite into when the time comes. Eugene flashes him a grin.

He never breaks eye contact with Zach as he drags his tongue over the back of his hand, licking up the salt. He only loses Zach’s gaze long enough to knock his shot back; the tequila burns and his eyes water briefly. Eugene steps closer, his hip bumping Zach’s, as he leans in and takes the lime wedge from Zach’s mouth. Again, he doesn’t break eye contact as he bites into the fleshy inside of the lime, or as he draws back and chews the lime between his teeth to get the juice out.

He plucks it from his mouth when he’s finished and tosses it onto the table beside them. Then, without overthinking it, Eugene leans in and kisses Zach’s slightly parted lips. Zach makes a noise of surprise deep in his throat and Eugene’s distantly aware of people cheering, cameras clicking, flashes going off as people film. He doesn’t care; he tilts his head and deepens the kiss for a split second, dips his tongue into Zach’s mouth and tastes the beer he’s been drinking.

Eugene stumbles back suddenly, confused. Zach’s hands are out, and Eugene sluggishly puts it together: Zach shoved him away. Guilt and embarrassment start to churn in Eugene’s gut, so he turns rapidly to the table and grabs another shot, he doesn’t even know what’s in the glass. He pounds that one and another before declaring, “shots!” to a chorus of more cheers.

When he looks over again, Zach is gone.

 

 

**_three_ **

Eugene is buzzed and feeling warm. He’s been nursing the same drink for the better part of a half hour, unusual for him, but he’s determined not to get shit-faced. This isn’t some house party or some bar on the eastside—it’s a nice gathering at the house, celebrating another million subscribers for their channel, and just because there’s an open bar doesn’t mean Eugene needs to make use of it.

It doesn’t help that the bartender keeps flashing him eyes, and Eugene is only so strong of a man. He tightens his grip on his whiskey and coke and takes a downright miniscule sip.

“I think this is the least I’ve seen you drink since after the fifty states video.”

Eugene hums, looking to where Zach has appeared beside him. “That was a rough one.”

Zach smiles up at him and something like guilt or fear clutches at Eugene’s heart. “Eugene, listen, I think—?”

“You want a drink?” Eugene cuts in.

Zach looks over to the open bar, small and crowded. “Do I want to wait in line for an hour? No thanks.” He shrugs and clearly steels himself to try and talk to Eugene again. And that—that can’t happen. Eugene reaches out, takes him by the wrist, and pulls him along without listening to any of Zach’s indignant complaints.

People part for Eugene easily, and the bartender turns to him with a flirty eye almost immediately. Eugene matches him with a sultry grin and makes a show of knocking back the rest of his current drink; he can feel the eyes on his throat as he swallows.

“Another whiskey and coke, two blowjobs, and a vodka-cran.” He turns away as the bartender gets to work to find Zach staring at him.

“Eugene, what are you doing?” He hisses.

“ _We_ are gonna have some fun,” Eugene says with a wink. He lets go of Zach’s wrist finally and claps him on the shoulder. “Lighten up, Korndiddy.”

The drinks are ready in record time; Eugene pays and stuffs a hefty tip in the jar but blatantly ignores the little slip of paper with a ten-digit number the bartender tries to slide his way. He passes the vodka-cran to Zach, holds the whiskey and coke in one hand, and balances the two shot glasses between his fingers.

It takes some very careful maneuvering to herd Zach to a mostly empty corner of the living room. Eugene looks around for a second and thinks about how it’s going to be hell to clean up. He shrugs off the thought and holds out one of the blowjob shots to Zach, who takes it with only a weary sigh.

Zach opens his mouth but Eugene gets there first. “It’s too crowded to do this properly,” he says, a little regretful. “But still.” He raises his little shot glass and grins when Zach taps his own against it and murmurs _“cheers.”_

Eugene drinks his slower than he normally would and watches Zach try to shoot the thing back as quick as possible. Zach is still sputtering slightly as Eugene polishes his off; Eugene licks his lips, watches Zach’s eyes track the movement. Eugene’s own gaze is drawn to the clump of whip cream stuck to the corner of Zach’s mouth.

He leans in slowly, giving ample time for Zach to run away, before dragging his tongue over the sweetness. He licks up the whip cream and barely pauses to swallow before he’s licking into Zach’s mouth. Zach opens to him immediately and tilts his head just right so their noses don’t bump. Eugene hums appreciatively into the kiss and he wishes he had a hand free so he could reach for Zach, tug him close, back him up against the wall, and—

The kiss breaks, and for a long, tense moment, he and Zach only stare at each other.

“I should go,” Zach says hurriedly as he steps out of Eugene’s orbit. “Thanks for the drink, or whatever.” He gestures to the vodka-cran and then backs away rapidly, even as Eugene reaches for him.

 

 

**_four_ **

They’re at a bar; that much, Eugene knows. What bar, or what city? Eugene couldn’t say. He’s drunk, he knows that too. Zach is also drunk, because they’re never this close unless it’s for a video or they’re shitfaced. The rustic brick wall of the bar kind of itches at Eugene’s back, but he’ll take the discomfort when it means Zach is pressed all along his front.

Zach laughs about something and Eugene coughs at the boozy scent rolling off his breath. Zach won’t stop laughing, and the scent is sickeningly sweet and overwhelming. Eugene wants, no, _needs_ it to stop, so he does what feels natural.

He hauls Zach in with a hand at the back of his neck and kisses him. He drinks in Zach’s squeak of surprise and kisses him hard, taking all he can before Zach inevitably pulls away. Zach always pulls away, and Eugene moans into his mouth in dismay.

Except—except Zach isn’t pulling away. If anything, he’s pushing closer. He’s got a leg between Eugene’s thighs and he’s pressing up against his half-chub. Eugene shudders and tugs at the little hairs at the back of Zach’s neck, earning a whine from the other man. Zach presses in and their cocks brush through layers of denim. It feels like electric heat zipping across Eugene’s overheated skin, amplified when Zach’s tongue traces his teeth.

“Zach,” he groans. He yanks at Zach’s hair again just to hear him keen. He wants more, wants to take Zach apart and make him scream.

“Eugene,” Zach breathes back. He winds his arms around Eugene’s shoulders and rolls his hips against Eugene’s. “Yeah,” he moans softly. _“Yes.”_

Eugene thinks Zach could come like this and the thought strikes a fire in him. He wants to make that happen, wants Zach to be completely at his mercy, putty in his hands. Eugene drags his free hand down Zach’s back until he can grab a handful of ass and _squeeze_.

Zach yelps and startles and it forces them even closer. Hell, Eugene could maybe come like this. His nerves are stretched taut from booze and friction and it wouldn’t take much to tip over the edge like this. Especially not if he could get Zach to come first.

Eugene sets his mind to doing just that when someone hollers nearby, and then Keith and Ned crash against them, shouting things Eugene can’t parse through. Sounds vaguely like admonishes, chides stuff like “we’re in public,” and “you guys are way too drunk for this,” and other shit like that.

Eugene growls and doesn’t want to let go of Zach, not until the smaller man actually squirms out of his hold. Eugene whines but when he meets Zach’s eyes, there’s no heat there. He’s still blushing and he’s clearly still hard in his jeans, but he looks scared. He looks upset.

“You’re right,” Zach says, to Keith or Ned or someone but definitely not to Eugene. “Let’s go home.”

 

 

**_one_ **

Eugene, distantly, thinks he might be sick. Not like, caught a cold sick. Just _sick_ , because he passed around a joint with a couple friends of friends before showing up to this party; he lost track of how many drinks he’s had a while ago. The one currently in his hand might be number four, but it could just as easily be number seven. Eugene shrugs to himself as he weaves through the sea of people.

It’s a little strange to be back at the Buzzfeed offices after so long of being gone. It’s not bad, per se, but very strange. Everything looks the same except for the things that don’t: things like the way Steven holds himself brighter than ever before, now that Worth It is getting its own channel. It’s the whole reason Eugene and the other Try Guys are here—to support Steven, congratulate him, et cetera et cetera.

Eugene blinks and finds Steven staring at him, brown eyes full of nervous concern. It’s not unlike the look Zach gives him, sometimes, and the thought makes Eugene snort.

“Eugene?”

“Congrats, Steven,” Eugene says. He sounds pretty sober, at least to his own ears. Steven relaxes before his very eyes and flashes him a grin. “You deserve this,” Eugene adds.

Steven wrings his hands for a second. “Thanks. It’s kinda crazy to think…”

“You deserve it,” Eugene says again, a little firmer. “You all do.”

Steven beams at him. “Thanks, Eugene. How’ve you been?”

They talk casually for a couple minutes, Eugene sucking down his drink as Steven speaks, and Steven practically bouncing from foot to foot whenever he’s not focused on Eugene. Steven’s always been the energetic type, but not like this.

“What’s up?” Eugene finally caves and asks.

Steven flushes pink, and Eugene raises an eyebrow curiously. “Uh, Andrew is a little late getting back from a booze run.” He says it with a laugh that sounds downright nervous. “We were gonna talk about something but I lost him before we could, and then he ran to get more alcohol, and uh.”

Eugene blinks. “Uh huh.” He lets Steven stew for a second, just to watch him squirm. “You guys gonna talk about all that unresolved sexual tension?”

Steven’s blush worsens. “Uh. Yes.”

Eugene’s surprised he admitted it and tries to keep his expression carefully neutral. “Good for you,” he says, genuine. It’s been a long time coming, he thinks, and almost unwittingly his thoughts drift to Zach.

“There he is!” Steven half-shouts as he points over Eugene’s shoulder. For a split second, Eugene’s addled mind thinks Steven means Zach, as if the other man read his thoughts, and Eugene whips around a little too fast. He trips on his own feet and the only thing that stops him from tipping over is Steven’s hands on his shoulders. “Woah, you good?”

Eugene nods and rights himself. “Great. Go get your man,” he says with a nod in Andrew’s direction. Andrew is talking with a couple people near the drink table but he keeps shooting so-not-subtle looks at Steven, and the last thing Eugene wants to do is hold them up.

Steven hesitates a second longer, until a voice behind him says, “I got this, Steven.”

Lo and behold, none other than Zach stands just behind Steven. His arms are crossed over his chest and he’s watching Eugene with a wary eye. Steven nods rapidly and practically tosses Eugene in Zach’s direction before speeding off to where Andrew’s waiting for him.

Eugene stumbles into Zach and clings to him. “Hey,” he breathes.

Zach smiles at him, a sideways quirk of an expression, something that’s not really happy but not quite unhappy either. He holds Eugene up by the elbows; Zach keeps him at arm’s length but his touch is warm. Neither of them says anything for a second and the commotion around them becomes a dull roar of sound.

“It’s too early to bail,” Eugene says.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep an eye on you,” Zach says a little warily.

Eugene can’t help his grin and he’s speaking long before he can think better of it. “Sounds naughty,” even though it really doesn’t. It has the desired effect: Zach flushes pink over his cheeks and up to his hairline, and Eugene just can’t resist. He staggers closers to Zach and corrals him against a nearby wall.

Hands on his chest stop him as he leans in. “We shouldn’t,” Zach breathes, and it’s then that Eugene catches the hint of vodka on Zach’s breath. “Not here.”

Eugene grins and reaches for Zach’s wrist. “Not here,” he agrees. He tugs Zach away and down a nearby hall. They may not work here anymore but he still knows the building like the back of his hand—and that includes knowing the best spots to illicitly make out during company parties.

He drags Zach a good distance from the main party and then into a tiny meeting room that’s empty save or a table, a couch, and a few spinny chairs. They stumble over to the couch and Eugene falls first, with Zach crashing into his lap. They meet in a kiss that’s messy and crude, teeth clacking together and lips split in the process.

It’s perfect. Eugene growls as he licks into Zach’s mouth and holds him by the hips hard enough to bruise. He’s never been given this before—he’s always taken, always kissed Zach without a thought but always craved more. Now he has it. He has Zach warm and pliant in his lap, kissing him like they’d die without each other’s mouths. Eugene moans again and tugs at Zach’s lip with his teeth.

“Eugene,” Zach whines softly. His eyes flutter open and Eugene wants to tell him a million things: how pretty Zach is, how he’s sorry they never talk about this the next morning, how they probably won’t talk about this tomorrow, either. “Eugene,” he sighs again.

Eugene blinks and they’re back in the midst of the party. He swivels around, confused, until a hand on his cheek stops him. “What?”

“You zoned out,” Zach explains slowly. There’s no vodka on his breath and he’s not flushed prettily. “I said I’d keep an eye on you, and you zoned out.”

Eugene blinks. “So—we didn’t—?”

“We didn’t, what?”

Eugene’s mouth goes dry. He could feel it so vividly; belatedly, he realizes he’s hard in his jeans. It takes all his willpower, drunk as it may be, not to look down. Because then Zach will look down, and then he’ll blush, and Eugene—Eugene will do something stupid.

“Nothing,” Eugene grits out. “I gotta go.”

Zach’s hand on his arm is almost painfully strong. “Let me drive you home.”

Eugene nods. “Yeah. Okay.” He lets Zach guide him over to the makeshift coat check and get both their jackets, listens as Zach apologizes to Steven and Andrew—who are holding hands, _finally_ —and Adam for leaving early. Eugene zones out again as Zach takes him downstairs and straps him into the passenger’s seat of his car. No more sexy daydreams come to him, though; he’s just lost in his own hazy thoughts.

“Eugene,” Zach says, more of a sigh. “Is everything okay? With… with us?”

Eugene nods before pressing his forehead against the window. “S’fine.”

Zach doesn’t ask again. The longer they drive, the worse Eugene feels. He’s always been able to hold his alcohol just fine, but something about tonight—maybe it’s being crossfaded, maybe it’s the unsettling clarity of his earlier fantasy, maybe it’s just being so close to Zach—something about tonight has Eugene all out of sorts.

Zach puts the car into park and comes around to the passenger’s side door quicker than Eugene can blink. He hauls Eugene out of the car and helps him up to his apartment. They’re both silent the whole time. Zach fumbles with Eugene’s keys, and helps him toe off his shoes, and pushes him onto his bed.

Flat on his back and dizzy, Eugene grins. “You gonna join me?” His stomach is still roiling but his thoughts are pulled apart like threadbare cloth, stringy and messy. One second he wants to apologize so badly it _hurts_ and the next he wants nothing more than to drag Zach under the covers with him.

Zach, standing beside Eugene’s bed, shakes his head. “Not tonight.”

Eugene lets out a whine and reaches for Zach.

“Eugene,” Zach says, firmer. “No.”

Eugene whines again and Zach sits at the edge of the bed. It’s inelegant and Eugene’s pride will hurt about it tomorrow, but Eugene scrambles around on the bed until he can pillow his head in Zach’s lap. Zach stiffens under him for a second and Eugene almost, _almost_ apologizes.

But then Zach’s hand drops into his hair and combs through his sweaty, mussed curls. “Oh,” Zach sighs. “Eugene.”

“Stop saying my name,” Eugene mumbles against Zach’s leg. “Stop—stop it.”

“Okay,” Zach agrees readily.

For a few minutes, the room is full of nothing but Eugene’s breathing and the soft shift of fingers through hair. It’s soothing, warm, and Eugene’s stomach starts to settle. By the time he no longer feels like barfing, his heart is aching instead.

He needs to apologize. He needs to kiss Zach. He needs some fucking water, probably. One of those things is far easier to do than the rest, so he goes for it. He tries to sit up briefly and leans into Zach, who leans away. Eugene’s lips brush against Zach’s cheek instead of his mouth, and Eugene hums, sad. He sinks back down and gets comfortable with his head in Zach’s lap again.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against Zach’s jeans. “I’m sorry.” He can’t get it all out: all the things he wanted to say in his daydream, all the things he’s wanted to say for months. How he’s not sorry for kissing Zach but how he’s sorry for not talking about it, not _doing_ something about all these feelings warring inside him.

Zach’s hand never falters in his hair. He sighs again before speaking so softly, Eugene almost misses it—

“I know.”


End file.
